May 8, 2016
Whistler wildlife: A day of adventure
I survived the night and awoke to see the sun bursting through the trees with all the promise of another beautiful day. I had, however, already grown tired of the highway, and decided to start the day by following a trail that I'd noticed on a map of the area. I didn't know how easy it was going to be, but it had been indicated that cycling was allowed and so I thought it must be possible, and it would at least get me off the highway for a while.
At first my decision appeared vindicated. The 'trail' was actually on back roads in the beginning, and for a while these were paved and easy. Then the road, through the immodestly named Paradise Valley, turned to gravel, but was still in good condition. I was happy enough cycling through the woods here, but I was also cautious, as I knew that the road would soon end and I would have to take a trail for several kilometres to get back to the highway. The most worrying thing was that the road I'd been following had gained little in the way of altitude, so that I knew I would have to gain plenty on the trail.
I reached the end of the road and found a few cars parked up, and a makeshift campsite of several tents down near the river I'd been following. A woman in this little car park said hello and so I stopped and made a point of enquiring about the trail ahead. Her response was not entirely positive and she mentioned the word 'boulders' far too many times for my liking. Certainly from her advice I was going to spend quite a bit of time pushing, and carrying things over boulders, and going up steep hills, but apparently it was possible. I asked if she knew how far it was until this worrying-sounding trail would reconnect with the highway. “I'm not sure,” was her response, “but it took me twenty minutes to mountain bike down it once. Coming the other way.” All things considered I reasoned I was probably in for a good couple of hours trying to make my way up with all my gear.
This time estimate was soon scaled upward. First I had to get off and push on the flat beside the river as I had to make my way over large loose stones (boulders if you will) before the trail proper could begin. Once I'd navigated that I found the trail, but any relief I felt at seeing that the trail was not made up of such boulders was offset by the extreme gradient of it as it climbed sharply away from the river. I tried to cycle, and if it had been asphalt I might have been able to get up it, but as it was it was loose gravel and my back wheel simply skidded out from under me on the steep slope. So I got off and pushed, but this was barely any more possible, as my shoes would lose traction in a similar fashion. Trying to get a grip with my feet on this surface while pushing my ridiculously heavy bike up an unfairly steep track was a difficult task. Looking for a solution, I found that the best way to make any progress was to walk in the undergrowth at the side of the trail, where my feet could at least find some grip, and gradually inch my way up in this ungainly manner.
It was hard work, but eventually the trail levelled out and I was able to get back on and actually cycle. This felt good but it was a moment of joy that lasted barely a moment, for no sooner had I begun to enjoy myself than I came face-to-face with an even steeper climb than the last, and this time the track surface had changed abruptly to an extremely uneven amalgamation of rocks and what you might very well describe as boulders. Once again I had little choice but to resort to pushing up and it was absolute torture to do so. Every step was an enormous effort, shoving my bike forward with all my might and staggering ahead one more little step, navigating the rocks as best I could.
The second section of climbing was a real killer, but there was nothing in the way of respite at the top of it because unfortunately the trail next crossed a railway line. This in itself would have presented a bit of a challenge, but was made even more so by the fact that essentially an obstacle course had been constructed on either side of the train tracks that also had to be overcome. Great big blocks of concrete and huge big rocks (yup, these were definitely boulders) blocked the path on both sides of the railway. I had no choice but to take off all my bags and make several trips back and forth, climbing up over the first of these blockades, skipping over the tracks, and then staggering up and over the second, all while lugging my heavy possessions.
Beyond that the trail at least returned to being loose gravel, but once again climbed so steeply that I had to get off and push. And so this went on and on, until finally I reached a lake. The woman had told me the trail would get easier after the lake, and so I was pleased, but the woman was lying, and so I was even more exacerbated by the next steep sections. Then the trail narrowed and wound around the edge of a cliff. At one point the trail had fallen away completely, and in its stead a kind of mesh bridge had been constructed, held on to the cliff with an array of cables. It hardly seemed safe to walk out onto this mesh, to see the great abyss below my feet, but to do so with an extremely heavy bicycle really seemed to be pushing my luck. Turning back now was certainly no alternative though, so I held my breath and went for it.
The trail had been exceptionally hard work, but it came with rewards. The views as I reached these higher parts were nothing short of spectacular, and when I paused and looked around I really appreciated how nice it was to be out in the wilds of Canada, without the sound of the highway or anyone else to bother me. It was really rather wonderful. Which is not to say that it was not also wonderful when I finally staggered up the last of the steep gravel climbs and reached the highway again to feel tarmac under my wheels once more.
The unexpectedly long detour on the trail had taken such an amount of time that I had in fact run out of water. With quite a distance still to cover to Whistler I was forced to dig deep into my backpack and pull out my emergency water. This was small bottle of mineral water that I carried with me for just such dire circumstance, although the Laotian script on the seal that I cracked open was testament to just how efficient my normal water-carrying routine was. Refreshed, I continued to Whistler, making just one more stop along the way, to visit Brandywine Falls just off the highway. As far as waterfalls go, I'd rate this one as slightly better than the one I'd been to the day before, mostly because it came with a rainbow. There was also a good view of another lake and valley a short hike away. I give it a 7/10.
I arrived in Whistler mid-afternoon and was impressed by the picturesque ski-resort town, surrounded by snowy mountains, and criss-crossed by (paved and reasonably-graded) bicycle trails. I followed these around lakes and past chalets amidst the fresh mountain air and I thought 'people actually live here' and I couldn't believe it, thinking about some of the poverty I'd seen in different parts of the world and the horrible places some people have to call home. Here in Whistler was a perfect place to live, so it seemed.
Unfortunately my day was to take a turn for the worse. Given all the warning signs around town reminding me that this was bear country I was on high alert for the dangers of the Canadian wildlife, but it was a creature of a different size that I came to grief with. My upper left arm had been itching and I decided at some point to take a look and when I did I was aghast to see an ugly tick buried head-deep in my bicep just below the arm-pit. Ticks are absolutely horrible things although this was only the second time one had actually sunk its pincers into me on this trip. The first had been in Poland, when I'd spotted it at night and in trying to remove it I'd accidentally pulled the body off leaving the head stuck in my arm. A delicate torch-light operation involving knives and scissors, each sterilised by a cigarette lighter, had ensued, and resulted in nothing more than me pushing the head further into me.
I was keen to avoid that again, so I went to the pharmacy in downtown Whistler and bought myself a pair of tweezers. Then I found a quiet spot, lifted up my shirt sleeve and went to work. I grabbed the tick by the tweezers as close to the skin as possible and gave a little tug. Gently, gently. It wasn't budging. Just a little more pressure. Easy, easy. I pulled a little harder. It was holding on tight. I gave it a yank. Off came the body, leaving the little head behind. Goddamnit! I tried to get a hold of the head with the tweezers. Couldn't do it. I just pushed the damn thing in more. Fiddlesticks.
I went to the visitor centre across the street and went inside to make use of the free wifi. Just in time too, for a thunderstorm swept in soon after and I watched the heavy rainfall from the safety of the dry room, while reading about how the tick I'd just pushed into my arm was indeed the type that carried Lyme Disease. I was very annoyed. I knew from my last tick experience that my body should deal with the head by itself, absorb it as if it were a splinter, but if that tick was carrying Lyme Disease I was for sure going to get it now.
The rain passed and I decided to continue and get beyond Whistler to find somewhere to camp. I left the downtown area and was riding once again on the bicycle paths when I got a bit of a surprise. I was about to go down a short downhill section when up ahead I noticed two black bears, a mother and her cub, sauntering along on the trail ahead of me. It was lucky that I saw them when I did, for if I had started on that little downhill I may have been bumping into them, which is not advised. As it was I froze on the spot, staring at the magnificent creatures. What was slightly worrying was that they were walking in my direction, and I briefly wondered if the thing to do here wasn't to turn around and cycle back the way that I'd come as fast as possible. That seemed a cowardly act though, and before I had time to do anything the mother looked up and noticed me. I stood my ground. For a second or two we held each others stare, and there was a tense moment when it wasn't clear who would back down first, the black bear and her cub or me and Kevin the koala. But then, perhaps inevitably, the bear did back down, and she wandered off with her cub into the cul-de-sac next to her. Perhaps this wasn't the perfect place to live after all. I mean, the views are great, high-living standards too, but the neighbours would be a bit too bear-like for me.
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After all the events of the day there was still time for me to cycle out to a place called Lost Lake, which looked beautiful and peaceful, before I made camp in a clearing in the woods a little further on. It had been a day of adventure; a day of challenging cycling, extreme weather, beautiful nature and dramatic wildlife encounters. And it was a day that ended with me placing my food a very long way from my tent.
Today's ride: 60 km (37 miles)
Total: 48,791 km (30,299 miles)
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